In Italy... well in Sicily... well in Ispica...

The phrase "In Italy... well in Sicily... well in Ispica..." has become an in-joke between the two of us, because often when talking about something from her own culture, Simona starts the explanation of how things are done, or what things are like with that phrase. Italy is so regional that the foods, culture and customs can be very different from one town to another.

Nowhere is this difference more clear than with food. Food is so important in Italy; it's more than simply sustenance, it's a way to show hospitality, acceptance and love.

Many foods which are now reasonably universal around Italy (indeed the world!) started as regional specialities. Prosciutto, for example, is widely known as Parma ham because it originates from Parma in the cool north of Italy. It couldn't be made in the south of Italy, say in Calabria, because the weather is far too hot to be hanging great chunks of dead pig around the house - it'd be rancid in no time. Bolognese sauce, as its name suggests, originates from Bologna and pesto sauce was originally from Genoa.

Each region of Italy has its own cheeses (although some may have the same names), for example the delicious, sweet yet salty sheep's milk cheese, Pecorino (pronounced peck-or-REE-no) has three main types: Pecorino Sardo from Sardinia, Pecorino Toscano from Tuscany and Picurinu Sicilianu from Sicily. Naturally, a Sardinian will claim that their Pecorino is the best, a Tuscan that you can't beat theirs and a Sicilian wouldn't need to tell you that the Picurinu is the ultimate Pecorino cheese because it should be obvious.

Arancini (pronounced aran-CHEE-nee) in Sicily are tennis ball-sized, pear-shaped balls of rice filled with sauce usually with cheese, chunks of boiled egg and perhaps even ham in the middle, coated in breadcrumbs and then deep fried. The Romans have their own sausage-shaped version called supplì (pronounced soo-PLEE).

There are also regional specialities which have stayed very, very regional. One example is Modican chocolate which is only found in Modica in the province of Ragusa in Sicily. You won't generally find it in Rome, Milan or even Palermo, if you want to try it, you'll just have to take a trip to Modica to get some.

Un po' di pranzo (a spot of lunch)

About 10km along the coast from Messina to the west, surrounding a lagoon where locals farm mussels and clams, is the town of Ganzirri. On the limb of land which separates the lagoon from the sea is an unassuming-looking family-run restaurant called Trattoria del Lago. Simona's uncle took us there for lunch before we headed back to Ispica.

 

As is usually the case in a trattoria, there was no menu, just a verbal description of what they have today. This way, you know that the food you are getting is the freshest available, more than likely caught only a few hours earlier. The offerings were simple: either pasta or rice with mussels or clams for the primo (first plate) with fried squid, octopus salad, or a fish similar to swordfish (I didn't catch the name) for the secondo.

 

Simona's uncle recommended that we must also order an antipasto (starter) of Polpette di Pescespada con Salsa Semplice (swordfish meatballs in simple tomato sauce), so good that "When God is pissed off with the world, He sends for a plate of these and afterwards everything is ok again"

I had the Spaghetti con Cozze (spaghetti with mussels) in a delicious tomato sauce. Then Calamari Fritti (fried squid) beautifully tender with just enough bite. I also tasted some of Simona's Insalata di Polpo (octopus salad) which was also delicious. The meal was accompanied by fresh and delicious bread with sesame seeds and washed down with a local red wine "for those in the know" which arrived in an unlabeled bottle with a crown cap. It was very slightly frizzante with a mellow, rounded but robust flavour similar to port.

 

This place is well worth a trip to Messina and the very traffic-heavy drive out to Ganzirri. The food was all superb. As the owner said, it's "cooked as simply as possible to get to the essential flavour of the fish".

No Parking

To say that Messina has a parking problem with parking would be an understatement. The sign in this picture means that cars parked on the side of the road will be towed.

 

Journeying to Messina

We are staying in Ispica, in the province of Ragusa, on the south-eastern point of Sicily. Simona's uncle currently lives in Messina town (which is the name of both the town and the province), so we went for a visit.

 

The drive is only a couple of hours, but the views are incredible. Not least because the central reservations of the motorway are brimming with beautiful but toxic Oleander. The road is inland from Ispica to Avola and then follows the coast past Siracusa, Catania and Taormina to Messina.

 

Mount Etna, brooding and perpetually shrouded in a ring of cloud at her summit, hangs over Catania. Etna is an active volcano and there are times when Catania airport, the main airport for the east of Sicily, is closed because Etna is grumpily spewing smoke, ash and lava.

 

After Catania, the landscape becomes noticeably more rugged. Peaks and foothills hide small towns nestled into the protective embrace of the mountain. Sometimes the first sign you'll see of a town will be its cemetery because they're usually outside the walls of the town.

 

Taormina clings to the side of a mountain, overlooking the beautiful, clear waters of a sheltered bay. Little wonder tourists flock to the area!

 

Shortly after Taormina, the indistinct, hazy outline of the mainland appears on the horizon: Calabria - the toe of Italy's boot! And before we know it, traffic is getting heavier because we're entering Messina.

 

The town is not exactly the jewel in Sicily's crown. There is some beauty here, but Messina seems run down and dirty. It is a port and as with any port there is a lot of through traffic.

 

In 1908, there was an earthquake which devastated the town. Temporary housing was quickly erected and after a few years, funds (and permission) were found to begin rebuilding. The work had barely started when the first world war broke out, halting progress. In the 1920s work continued and so much of the architecture here is in the Liberty style (known elsewhere in the world as Art Nouveau).

 

 

Progress ground to a halt again with the Second World War and restarted in the 1950s. Over a hundred years since the quake however, that temporary housing is still in use; the buildings have been modernised a little and renovated here and there, but they're still the same structures and people live there.

 

The beauty of the town is the panoramic walk, high up by the old city walls, looking out to the harbour, the strait and Calabria beyond.

 

 

We descended the hillside through the grounds of the Montalto Church and headed towards Piazza del Duomo (the Cathedral) The rebuilt clocktower was inaugurated in 1933 with works built by the Ungerer company of Strasbourg and at midday every day it gives a quirky display steeped in the tradition and folklore of the area.

 

 

Two statues - Diana and Clarenza, historical heroines of the city - draw attention by tolling the bells. Then a lion (the symbol of Messina) waves a flag, waggles his tail and throws back his head to emit three fearsome roars. Next up is a somewhat arthritic display from a rooster, which struggles to flap its wings before crowing. As Schubert's Ave Maria plays, a model of Montalto Church rises from what I assumed to be the rubble of the 1908 earthquake, Christ raises his arms to bless the crowd and finally there's a depiction of the legend of the letter sent to the residents of Messina from the Virgin Mary. It scores highly on entertainment value plus, it's all visible for free!

  

I Vanniaturi

Mobile shops are not a thing of the past in Sicily. Local merchants ply their wares around every town; their small vans billowing over with fresh, local produce. And when I say local,  I mean it: the produce was probably grown within about 3km of where it's being sold. For the vanniaturi to travel further would be counter-intuitive; why drive further, wasting petrol, when the customers in the nearest town have the same Euros in their pocket as those in a town 20km away?

 

The Ape (pronounced "app-peh") - a small, three-wheeled truck which is a typical sight in both town and country in Italy - seems custom-made for this purpose. Vanniaturi (pronounced van-nya-TOO-ree) affix loud-hailers to their Apes, from which they announce their stuff. In fact, vanniare means 'to shout' in Sicilian.

 

Readers in Liverpool will know that the vendors of the local newspaper, The Echo, each have their own, unique call; one shouts "eeeehKO-KO-KO", while another calls "E-ko....E-ko". London's Evening Standard vendors have a similar racket going on.

 

Similarly, Italian Vanniaturi all have their own calls, usually in dialect and very often difficult to understand. Part of the reason for the incomprehensible calls, of course, is so you have to go out and see for yourself what they're selling - and what great quality it is!

 

Today Ispica's vanniaturi was touting seafood (not that it was obvious at first). Sicilians often have quite soft consonants; Simona explained that "BOO-pee-BOO-pee!" was actually "Puppi" (the Sicilian for Octopus - the Italian being polpo or polipo). "alaMAAAAree-alamarETTee" was Calamari, Calamaretti (squid, small squid). And just to push home the point that he had octopus, he was also shouting "poh.LEE.poh!".

Getting into the Sicilian groove ahead of time.

We don't fly to Sicily until tomorrow, but this morning for breakfast (well, ok, maybe it's more like brunch) we decided to start to acclimatise with a frittata di zucchini e cipolle (that'd be a Spanish Omelette with courgette and onions... Although I'm not sure why we specifically call it Spanish Omelette here). For an extra touch of Sicily, we had a tomato on the side, seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano and a little extra virgin olive oil.

Granted, though, Italians wouldn't eat that with toast and a "lovely cuppa chaaaaaaaar!"